Pages

Sunday, July 19, 2015

Risky

When I was growing up, summer meant quarter horse show season. We
never wore helmets (practically manditory now), did some crazy things, and always rode at our “own risk.” Unbeknownst
to my dad, a prior owner had abused the horse he bought me when I was 14. We
soon learned he was spooky and would fly into a panic and/or rage if touched in the wrong place--specifically
behind the saddle or by the back strap, which we finally removed. No second passengers for that boy. He broke halter snaps and unloaded both me and the
saddle a few times before I learned to control his frenzies. On one occasion,
he reared up and fell over backwards, fortunately throwing me clear. The side
of my head smacked the ground, and, after seeing us both horizontal, I had no memory of the first several minutes
after getting up. (Maybe that explains a few things...) After all that, I like to think there aren't many horses I'd be afraid of--though Dad was a vet and taught me to have great respect for any stallion, no matter how seemingly docile. I've been out of the horse business for decades, so this horse is a neighbor's, not mine. But the sign cracked me up. I
wonder for whom it is meant.